


Respectable and Disreputable

by enviropony



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony
Summary: How it might have come to pass that James saved the Hamiltons from their wretched fate.





	Respectable and Disreputable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arysteia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysteia/gifts).



James wakes up slowly, with that heavy feeling of being well rested and reluctantly ready for the day. He has a moment of confusion as he glances around, unwilling yet to leave the bed for the relative chill of the room he's in. This isn't the boarding house, and it certainly isn't his cabin on the ship.

Movement to his right has him turning to see Thomas burrowing deeper under the covers, and James remembers that he never went back to the boarding house after dropping off his sea bag. Miranda had insisted he stay for dinner, and Thomas had insisted that he stay for the night. 

James and Thomas' private reunion had been a desperate, frantic coupling that eased into gentle lovemaking and easy kisses. They hadn't slept until the night was well on its way to morning, and looking out the window, James knows that he is late for his self-appointed duty of checking on his ship. 

She'd been halfway to unloaded of gear and leftover provisions when his second, keenly aware of his commander's impatience, had convinced James to go see to whatever pressing business he had. That business had been, of course, to reunite with Thomas as quickly as possible. Now James feels the need to check on the progress he'd all but abandoned yesterday, and make sure his officers and the crew have themselves gone home to rest. 

He is loathe to wake Thomas. Bidding his lover goodbye is always hard, not least for the fact that Thomas has a way of cajoling that almost guarantees compliance. If Thomas wishes James to stay, James will stay, unless he has the armor of his Navy uniform to remind him of his duties. So he slips with regret out of the warm bed, and clothes himself in responsibility. By the time Thomas wakes, bothered even by the quiet sounds of James getting dressed, James is ready to face both him and the day.

"You must stay for breakfast," are Thomas' first coherent words. He's reaching a hand out to James, entreating a touch or a kiss, and James gives in to that, at least. He takes Thomas' palm into his own and brushes his lips against the pale knuckles. 

"I must check on my ship, is what I must," he says, and leans on the bed to kiss Thomas on the lips. "There was a message from the admiral, too, when I went to drop off my things. I'm to meet him this afternoon. The morning is half gone as it is." Indeed, there are sounds of movement throughout the house, and the scent of cooking meat wafting up from the kitchen.

Thomas sighs dramatically. "Well, if duty calls so stridently... You'll return for dinner, though." It's not a question.

"I will if time allows, of course," James hedges. He's all but certain that Hennessy will ask him to dinner, as well, and he won't be able to decline without raising suspicion of some sort.

"Time had better allow," Thomas warns, but there is a jovial note to his tone. He sits up, back resting against the headboard, and continues, "Send a message, if you can, either way. Else the anticipation will destroy me."

James chuckles, and indulges Thomas - and himself - in another, more passionate kiss. They pull back reluctantly and look at each other fondly. James kisses Thomas once more, quickly, on the forehead, and stands up. "I'll see you soon, my lord," he promises, and takes his leave before Thomas can convince him otherwise.

He looks for Miranda as he leaves the house, but she's not in the sitting room, the library or anywhere else he feels comfortable searching. Indeed, despite the apparent morning bustle of the household, he sees nobody at all. Even the butler is not present, though he usually has a kind word to offer as James departs.

James glances around the front garden as he leaves, a little boldly, perhaps, through the front door. It would be worse to sneak out a side door, though, and be caught in the act. Something nags at him as he lets himself out the gate, and continues to eat at him as he walks across the street to hail a cab. He glances again at the house, and sees a man loitering at the corner of the property. 

That's probably what had caught his attention, he supposes - a beggar, or maybe a potential thief, as he's just a little too well dressed to be a beggar. But a thief, at this time of day? Perhaps he's looking for work, and can't quite get up the nerve to ring the bell at Thomas' house, or any other on the wealth-bound street.

James almost dismisses the man from his mind, even as he catches his gaze briefly, but the man turns away. Turns away quickly, as if he didn't mean to be seen, and James is immediately on alert. A downward look, as if avoiding a better, that would have been one thing, but the man turns away entirely, and strides away with plainly false nonchalance as James watches.

Frowning, James steps into the street, intent on following the fellow, when movement in the alley beside the house grabs his attention. Two of the maids are leaving, shawls over their heads against the morning chill, and glancing furtively about. One of them sees him, and both turn around abruptly, into the shadows of the alley.

A chill runs down James' spine. Is there a conspiracy to rob the Hamiltons? Or is it something more? Thomas makes little effort to hide his affection for James, and their relationship is an open secret in the household. Has someone finally decided to betray Thomas? James doesn't understand why it would be. The Hamiltons pay their staff exceptionally well, and give them plenty of holidays. Does someone consider Thomas and James' love so vile that even the unfettered kindness of their employers is not incentive enough to mind their own business?

James tries to tell himself that he's being irrational, but what he and Thomas have... is illegal. Perhaps some morally righteous soul has decided that they must be reported.

But what of the man loitering at the fence?

He mulls it over, loitering himself before the house across the street, and decides that his ship can wait. Something is wrong in the Hamilton household, and he means to be there when it comes to a head.

\- - -

Thomas is looking out the window, watching James cross the street, his nakedness hidden from the prying eyes by the curtains, when someone knocks on the door of the bedroom.

“Who is it?” Thomas calls, striding back to the bedside to gather up his dressing robe

“It's me,” comes Miranda's voice.

Thomas dons the robe and says, “Come in, dear.”

“Has James gone already?” she asks, coming to give Thomas a kiss in greeting.

“He just left,” Thomas says, and nods to the window. “Out catching a cab. I would have offered him the carriage if not for...”

“Well, I suppose I should be glad you're being cautious,” Miranda says ruefully. “I should tell you, Martha and Sally have gone for the day. Their mother is ill. I let them go after the morning chores were done.”

“Is there anything we can do for her?” Thomas asks, concerned. The maids' mother has been in excellent health lately, to hear them tell it, but she is elderly, and their income is her only means of support.

“They just need some time to take care of her,” Miranda assures him. “We can do without them for a few days.”

“All right, if you say so.”

The front door opens and closes before Thomas has time to change topics, a low thud that reverberates mildly in Thomas' room. He and Miranda stare at each other, frowning.

“Who could that be?” Miranda wonders, going to the window and peeking out. “There's nobody on the walk.”

Footsteps sound on the stairs, and Thomas goes to the door, alarmed. They feel familiar, though, and he dares to poke his head into the hallway. “James?”

“Forgive me,” James says, pushing Thomas gently back into the room, and following. “Oh, hello, my lady.”

Miranda rolls her eyes. “Miranda, James.”

“Yes, I know, my lady,” James teases, but the light in his eyes quickly darkens with worry. “I'm sorry to return unannounced, but I think something is wrong.” He explains as Miranda steps close, “I saw a man loitering by the fence. When I caught his eye, he departed immediately. And two of your maids just sneaked out of the house.”

“Martha and Sally,” Miranda says. “I let them go for the day.”

“That may be,” James persists, “but they were very furtive about it, and when they saw me, they were quick to leave. Something isn't right.”

Miranda puts a hand on James' arm. “They were going home to take care of their mother, James, that's all.”

James covered her hand with his. “My gut tells me something else is afoot.”

“If James is worried,” Thomas interjects, “then so am I. Perhaps it is nothing, but why take the chance?”

“You're both being paranoid,” Miranda says.

“I think they mean to report us to the authorities,” James counters.

“What could have possibly given you that idea?” Miranda asks, exasperated, but with a hint of worry to her voice.

James looks down. “I confess, it's speculation on my part, but I tell you...”

“Something isn't right,” Thomas finishes for him. “I believe you, James. You are not exactly prone to fancy.”

Miranda puts her free hand at Thomas' elbow. “If you are both insistent...” She thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Let us get dressed, first of all. Then we shall eat, and think on the matter.”

Thomas nods. “We will see you in the dining room, then?”

Miranda nods, pecks them both on the cheek, and lets herself out of the room.

James paces as Thomas chooses clothes for the day, boots thumping heavily on the rug-covered floor. “Perhaps I am being paranoid,” he says at length.

“I trust your instinct, James,” Thomas tells him, and buttons his breeches. “Come help me with this coat, will you?”

James obliges him, holding out the heavy coat for Thomas to slip into. As James straightens the collar along his neck, Thomas grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth. After a gentle kiss, he says, “Tell me more of what's troubling you.”

“There's nothing more to tell,” James says. “There servants were scarce in the house, and I saw some people acting suspiciously outside. That is all. Perhaps I'm making more out of it than I ought to.”

“Well, if it turns out to be nothing, then I'll still have had the pleasure of your company to savor,” Thomas tells him, turning around. He pulls James to him by the lapels of his Navy coat, and puts a firm kiss on his lips. “I will never begrudge you time, my love.”

James leans his forehead against Thomas'. “That is very sweet to say, but at some point you must away to Whitehall, and I... I still have the admiral to face this afternoon. If we do not satisfy ourselves as to the matter, if there is a matter, I shall have to either leave you, or ignore him. I am comfortable with neither.”

“I have no pressing business today, and we can send word that you've fallen ill, or some such,” Thomas says. “But I have faith we will sort it out before then.”

\- - -

They have a late breakfast, James barely tasting the food. He is growing increasingly sure that he is overreacting. The butler has reappeared, and the cook and her helper are obviously going about their day as usual. Still, it all nags at him, and he cannot bring himself to leave.

“Now, then,” Miranda says once they are nursing cups of tea amidst the remains of breakfast, “tell me again what has you so unsettled, James.”

James sighs, and repeats what he'd seen earlier, in as much detail as possible.

“They turned back into the alley?” Miranda echoes as he finishes. “Their house lies across the river. They should have crossed the street toward you.”

“Perhaps they were going to the apothecary?” Thomas plays devil's advocate.

“There is no apothecary in that direction that I know of,” Miranda says, and sets down her teacup.

“So you agree that something is amiss?” James asks, hating that he now sounds tentative.

“We should go out for a drive,” Miranda says, instead of answering him. “See if there isn't an apothecary in that part of the neighborhood, for a start.”

“I'll have George call for the driver,” Thomas declares, and goes off to find the butler, who has disappeared again.

“You think I'm mad,” James accuses, “yet you indulge me.”

“Thomas was right,” Miranda tells him. “You are not prone to fancy. Perhaps the sisters went to call on a friend, or find a doctor. Or perhaps they did not. You and Thomas, you are not as cautious as I wish you would be, so I cannot dismiss the idea that someone in the house has been threatened, perhaps, into bearing witness against Thomas. Though I doubt their word will be enough to do more than fuel new rumors, I will admit that it worries me.” She looks out the window, and when she looks back at James, her mouth twists in a regretful smile. “I know the damage rumors can do.”

James stands and comes around to her side of the table. He doesn't know what to say, so he takes her hand and presses a soft kiss to her fingers. 

Thomas comes in to find them like that and says, in a worried voice, “George has informed me that the carriage has a broken wheel. We aren't going anywhere.”

A shiver runs down James' spine, and he can see genuine concern now in Miranda's eyes. He turns to look at Thomas, who tries to play devil's advocate again. 

“Coincidence, right?”

“Perhaps,” James allows. “Perhaps.” But his unease has unfurled anew. 

\- - -

 

"We can take a cab," Miranda says when they've moved to the library and pulled the doors closed.

"Where to?" James asks, looking out the window that faces the front garden. There is someone loitering at the fence again, their back to the house. He can't tell if it's the same man as before, or someone new. "Cabbies are not in the habit of driving the city streets with no destination in mind."

"We could visit your cousin, Miranda," Thomas says.

"I'm afraid we're not speaking at the moment," Miranda replies, with no regret whatsoever. 

"Ah." Thomas sighs. "Perhaps-"

But James has tuned him out, because the man on the street is looking at the house now, and it is, in fact, the man from earlier. "He's back."

The Hamiltons both turn to him. "Who's back?"

"The man who was watching the house when I left," James says. "He's idling by the fence again."

Thomas joins him at the window, takes a good look, and frowns. "My father's gardener. What the devil?"

"Ask him inside," Miranda suggests. "See if he can explain himself."

"I'm sure he can," James says. "But I'm not going to ask." He unbuttons his coat and shrugs it off, hangs it on a chair. "I'll be right back."

"James, what are you doing?" Thomas' voice is disturbed, but James does not explain himself. He slips out of the library and heads for the kitchen, which lets out into the alley. The cook is gone, but the assistant mumbles a perfunctory greeting as she scrubs her pots.

The front garden is sloped enough to need a retaining wall, and that wall goes all the way to the mouth of the alley. James sneaks along the wall, crouching low as it gets shorter, hoping that none of the passing cart and carriage traffic takes note of him. He peeks around the corner to see the gardener just in front of him, eyes still on the house. 

James darts out just as the man turns and grabs him by the collar. "Inside with you!" he hisses in the man's ear, and tugs him back into the alley.

"Off of me!" the man grunts, struggling, but James grabs his arm and bends it behind his back, frog-marches him to the kitchen door. A couple of swift kicks at the door bring the cook's girl, who gasps at the sight before her but swings the door wide, anyway.

"Sir?"

"He was spying on the house," James bothers to explain.

"He's my lord's gardener," she says, baffled. "Why would he?"

"That's what I mean to find out," James says, and drags the man through the kitchen, ignoring his strident protests.

It should strike him as odd that nobody else comes running at the gardener's shouts, but now he's sure that something isn't right, so he's not surprised. It's possible that the cook's assistant is the only one left in the house besides himself and the Hamiltons.

Thomas opens the library door at the noise, and says, "My god, James!" but lets James push the gardener inside all the same.

The man quiets upon seeing Thomas and Miranda, and James releases him. "Explain yourself!" he demands.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Duffy?" Thomas asks when the man only stares at the floor.

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord," Duffy mutters. "Just looking at the garden. M'lord wanted it redesigned."

"Then why did you hurry to leave when Lieutenant McGraw say you this morning?"

Duffy stays silent.

"William," Miranda says, coming to stand in front of him and putting a hand on his arm. "What's going on?"

Duffy continues in his silence, but his face goes white, and he shakes his head.

"I'll get it out of him," James offers, stepping forward, but Thomas puts up a restraining hand.

"Nonsense, James. Mr. Duffy will tell us without coercion, because he is a kind and decent man who would not keep secrets that might harm this family. Isn't that right, Mr. Duffy?"

James scowls, but honey has opened Duffy's mouth where vinegar wouldn't.

"You've always been kind to me, m'lord, my lady," the man says. "It's not anything against you, mind, but the earl threatened to sack me if I said ought. I need this job."

"There's no need to tell him you spoke to us," Miranda says reasonably. 

Duffy looks at her, and James is surprised to see anguish in his eyes. "I heard more than I should have, and he'll know it was me what told you."

"He'll know either way, if you don't say what you're about," James warns. Not that he has any intention of speaking to Alfred Hamilton if he can help it, but Duffy doesn't need to know that.

"James," Thomas sighs, exasperated. "Do stop threatening the man."

Duffy seems to come to a decision, and takes a deep breath. "It's bad, m'lord. If you have the means to leave, and not return, you should, and do it now. They'll come later this afternoon. The earl told me to keep watch to make sure the lieutenant was gone."

"Who'll come?" Thomas presses, unable to keep the alarm entirely from his voice.

Duffy swallows. "Men from Bethlem, my lord. The earl means to have you committed."

There is stunned silence in the room. James' breath seems caught in his throat, and he can see the bewilderment on Thomas' face. Miranda's eyes grow dark with anger.

"On what grounds?" she demands.

Duffy glances between James and Thomas, not saying anything. It's enough, though.

"That bastard!" Miranda cries. "That utter pig!"

"We must leave," James says, breaking out of his own shock. "Gather only what you absolutely need. I'll go hail a cab. You-" he points at Duffy "-will stay here until we are gone. Then report what you will. It won't matter."

Thomas is staring into space, befuddled by grief and betrayal. Duffy takes a long look at him, and says, "If you go out the side alley to the road 'round the back, I can say I didn't notice you leaving."

"Good man," Miranda says, already rifling through Thomas' desk. "Thank you, William."

"You've been kind to me, mum," he says again, and edges for the door. James lets him go. Thomas is the bigger worry.

\- - - 

Miranda's gone to pack their things, but Thomas is standing at the window, staring into the street as if there are answers to be found out on the cobblestones. 

“Thomas?” James asks for the third time. “Let's get you packed.”

Thomas shakes his head – not in negation, but bewilderment. “Forgive me, James...” 

James comes to the window and pulls Thomas away from it, pulls him into his arms. Thomas presses his face to James'. His breathing is unsteady.

“Nothing he does should surprise me,” Thomas whispers, “but it does. Am I such a threat to him? Or am I so vile in his eyes, that he would do this?”

James rubs a hand up and down Thomas' back. “You are not vile, my love, and if you are a threat to him, then it is a just and righteous threat. That he chooses such a vulgar reprisal is a reflection on him, not you.”

Thomas sighs. “My head knows that. My heart...”

“Your hear is wounded, and rightly so,” James says. “He is your father.”

Thomas pulls back just enough to look James in the eye. “That has never meant what it should.” He leans in for a kiss, and James indulges him in a moment of comfort.

Time is precious, though, so he reluctantly pulls out of the embrace. “Come, we need to get you packed, and I need to hail a cab.”

“Yes, of course.” Thomas goes to the desk and looks through the drawers. “Did Miranda...?

“She went through your papers, yes,” James tells him. “I don't know what she took.”

“All the necessary items, no doubt,” Thomas says with a small smile. “Go call that cab. I will go upstairs.

\- - -

James hails a cab on the street behind the house, and has it back into the alley, out of sight of Mr. Duffy, who has returned to loitering out front. The cabby is perplexed but biddable, his horse quiet and patient in the shade of the alleyway. 

James goes back inside to find Miranda still packing. “Only what you need,” he reiterates. “The cab is waiting.”

“We won't have Alfred's funds to depend on,” she says. “I'm trying to find things to sell.”

James nods in approval of her forethought, and goes to see how Thomas is faring. His lover is likewise browsing through his things, stowing valuables in one of several luggage bags. James opens one bag to see that it contains only books. “Thomas, you can't bring all of these.”

“You may as well ask me to leave behind Miranda, as well,” Thomas snaps. “At any rate, they can be sold if needed.”

“I hope it's just the one bag,” James says, unperturbed at Thomas' temper. It's to be expected when a man has his life turned upside down in the space of minutes. 

“It is,” Thomas says, more gently. “What do you think, will this belt buckle fetch anything?”

James weighs the belt buckle in his palm. It is a mix of gold and silver, and much more intricately wrought than anything he owns. “Yes, it will.” He tucks it into one of the bags. “The cab is waiting.”

Thomas takes one more look through his wardrobe, then closes the doors. “Let us go, then.”

They take Thomas' bags out to the cab, then gather up Miranda and her luggage. George has reappeared again, and seems genuinely confused as to what the Hamiltons are up to. “We're going on a voyage, George.” Miranda tells him. “Take care of yourself. Thank you for everything you've done for us.”

“Yes, mum, my lord,” George says, still looking confused. “I wish you a pleasant journey.”

The cook's girl just smiles and blushes when Miranda bids her farewell. Thomas smiles back, wordless, still distracted by the whole situation.

James and the cabby load the luggage atop the cab, tying it down as best they can while Thomas and Miranda make themselves comfortable inside. 

“The Sleeping Fox,” James directs the cabby. “Take a roundabout route.”

James is not terribly well acquainted with The Sleeping Fox, but it is high-class, and near enough to the docks that two passing nobles won't stir the waters much. 

“Say you're from Oxford, bound to visit family in Rotterdam,” James tells Thomas and Miranda as the cab trundles on. “I'll get us a ship, but it might be a day or two.”

“Where are we going?” Miranda asks. Thomas is staring out the window, stone-faced.

“I don't know yet,” James says, even though an idea is percolating – one that Miranda won't like, and Thomas might not think much of, either. “Give me some of the things you mean to sell, when we get there. I know a man who'll give you honest prices.”

“What if we're found out?” Thomas asks, still staring out the window.

“You won't be,” James assures them both. Miranda holds his eye, and he knows she wants to believe him, but Thomas won't look at either of them. “I'll keep you safe.”

“You will keep Miranda safe, if they do catch up with me,” Thomas says after a lengthy silence. He turns from the window, intensity and insistence in his gaze. “You will see to her needs first, do you understand?” He sounds more lordly than he ever has when speaking to James.

“I'll keep you _both_ safe,” James reiterates. “Whatever it takes.”

“No, James, not whatever it takes,” Thomas argues. “You will not threaten anyone as you did Mr. Duffy. You will not deal underhandedly. We will proceed peacefully and honestly, or not at all.”

No, James thinks, Thomas won't like the idea of going to Nassau one bit. 

\- - -

James leaves the Hamiltons installed in a cozy room at The Sleeping Fox, and makes his way via cab and foot back to his boarding house to gather his sea bag. 

“Lieutenant, there's a message for you,” the matron says before he's quite gotten a boot in the door. “From Admiral Hennessy.” She hands him a folded piece of paper. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Dorsey.” James hurries up the stairs to his room, unfolding the note as he goes. He's to report to the admiral's office in – he pulls out his pocket watch – less than an hour. He debates going, just to keep up the pretense, but decides it's better to simply disappear. This way he can't be followed back to the Hamiltons, and he'll actually have time to try and sell some of the things they'd sent with him.

He changes out of his uniform and into the most nondescript clothing he has. He empties his sea bag onto the bed and repacks it for another voyage. He'd been looking forward to laundering his clothes, but there will be no time. After pondering a moment, he takes ash from the stove and rubs it into the letters stenciled on the seabag, obscuring his name as well as possible. With one final look around, James closes the door on his old life.

McReary is a silversmith and a pawnbroker, working out of a shop just a few streets away from the docks. James slinks in the back door and pulls him away from his counter to do business in private. Thomas' silver and gold buckle fetches a decent sum, along with some of Miranda's jewelry.

“Do I want to know where you got this?” McReary asks, fingering a fine silver necklace. 

“I'm selling it for friends,” James offers, not that it matters. McReary may be honest when it comes to prices, but he doesn't care where the good came from. 

The old man laughs. “Do they _know_ you're selling it, son?” 

James leaves the silversmith with enough coin to pay their passage any of several English colonies. From there, he will find them more or less direct passage to Nassau.

\- - -

"Where are we going?" Miranda asks again, weighing the bag of coins in her hand.

"The Carolina colony," James says. "The ship leaves on the morning tide."

"My father has connections there," Thomas says wearily.

"We're not staying."

Thomas sits up from his unlordly slouch "James, what exactly are you proposing? Where shall we go that my father won't eventually find us?"

Gossip being what it is, James knows that even with false names, they might be found out in any of the civilized port towns in the English colonies. A lord and a lady will always be noticed, even attempting to pass as commoners. 

It's a matter of going where nobody will care.

"James?" Thomas prompts when James remains silent. "Please don't hide things from us."

It tears at James, that Thomas should feel the need to ask him this. Shame turns his stomach. "You won't like it," he says.

"I gathered that much, thank you," Thomas says, with the barest hint of humor. "Tell us, anyway."

"Nassau."

There is a brief, sharp silence, and then both Hamiltons explode.

"Are you out of your mind?" Miranda demands. 

"Absolutely not!" Thomas declares. "Under no circumstances!"

James waves them both down as they draw breath to continue berating him. "Hear me out, please!"

"James, it's madness," Thomas continues, heedless of James' entreaty. "It's not safe, and you should know that better than anyone. If we had the pardons in hand, I would happily set foot on that island, but not with Miranda along. And certainly not as we are!"

"What exactly do you propose we do there?" Miranda asks. "How shall we live? Will you take up the life of a pirate?"

James had been contemplating doing just that, and she must see it in his face, because she turns away in disgust. 

"You will not be able to lead the life to which you are accustomed," he tells them both. "You must realize this?"

"I said before," Thomas tells him, "that we shall proceed honestly or peacefully, or not at all."

"So you will what?" James grits out, growing frustrated. "Attempt to throw yourself on your father's mercy? Try for the hundredth time to make him see reason? Do you have any idea what they do to the patients at Bethlem? It's called Bedlam for a reason, Thomas!"

Thomas doesn't seem to have an answer, or he's too angry with James to continue the conversation, and the room falls silent. James goes to stand by the window, glancing up and down the street to see if any familiar faces catch his eye. He doesn't know what to say to convince Thomas and Miranda to see things his way, but he starts talking again anyway.

"There is violence in Nassau, it is true. There are pirates, and thieves, men and women of ill repute. There are plantation owners who bemoan piracy, but still funnel their goods through the same trader who deals with the pirates. There is a parson who quotes the bible as well as any man I've heard. There are shopkeepers and bookkeepers, men with many talents, and men with few. There are also people like us there." He pauses, looks over to see Thomas watching him. "People like you and me, Thomas. Men who love other men. Women who love other women. And they all coexist with the respectable and the disreputable. There is a freedom to Nassau unlike any I've seen elsewhere. We have a chance there - a chance to live as ourselves, and no one to tell us what we can or cannot do. What we can or cannot be. Isn't that worth something?"

Thomas regards him silently, something like pride or wonder in his gaze. "You would live openly with me?"

"Of course!" James goes to him, kneels at his side. "To the end of my days." He takes Thomas' hand in his, turns it over to place a kiss on the palm. "It would ruin me to leave you."

Thomas smiles, a bright, delighted thing despite the sadness lingering in his eyes. "As it would ruin me to be left." He shifts in his chair, looking for Miranda. "But it would ruin me also, if my wife did not agree to this plan of yours."

Miranda is watching them, wistful and unhappy. "How can I deny you the joy of a life together?"

"With but a word, my dear," Thomas says, and James can't help but tense. Miranda means a lot to him, but Thomas... Thomas is everything. 

"A word I shall not utter," Miranda says. "If you two are sure of this venture, I can only hope to keep you out of the worst sort of trouble. And you will not become pirates, either of you!"

"On my word, my lady," Thomas says with a grateful smile.

James meets Miranda's eye, and stays silent. She doesn't press him. "Well, then, we are decided," she says. "To Nassau we shall go."

And James can only hope that they've made a sound decision.

\- - -


End file.
